Tag Archives: The Naked Witch

Apologies for being totally useless at getting my newsletter organised this year, where I’d be sharing with you all the news about my writing as it happens, but I seem to have started infinite plate spinning early on in the year, and am only just taking a few down so I can manage the rest.

It’s been brilliant having the first three books in the Lizzie Martin Witch Lit series to share! The Naked Witch has 25 reviews, the others, 9 and 10 respectively, and I’m hoping to double all those totals in 2020.

If you’re new to Witch Lit, I often get asked what it is, and why I decided to write it…

I believe the best description is borrowed from Chick Lit. Stories with a heroine-centred narrative focus on the trials and tribulations of their individual protagonists. These women live in a modern world, coping with work and home life. The books are peppered with a smattering of light heartedness and humour. All you have to do is substitute ‘witch’ for ‘chick’.

Witch Lit is contemporary, magical realism, where the magical and the mundane co-exist. The stories are gritty and believable while magic is sprinkled through the stories, offering the reader a new perspective on reality.

In response to why I write it, why wouldn’t I want to write about a woman who can hold down a full time job, single parent a fourteen year old daughter, raise money for the local children’s hospice and knock three coconuts off a shy…on a bad day? Why not write stories about passionate, earthy women, living real lives and embarking on wild, wonderful and outrageous adventures?

Characters with an underlying sense of their own spirituality are fascinating to read about and even more compelling to write about. Stories emerge from a different perspective but are set in the familiar world the reader inhabits.

Unlike Chick Lit, Witch Lit women do away with the sweet, sickly or fluffy. Their passion, determination and creativity shine through the stories, though none are averse to a well-rounded buttock or a chiselled jaw. Witch Lit isn’t anti-men but Witch Lit women’s lives don’t revolve wholly around their presence or absence.

The Witch Lit anthology came out this year too, a cornucopia of delightful stories, poems and essays, including my short story ‘The Butterfly Door’. All profits from this anthology go to Books for Africa.

This year I’ve completed the fourth book in the Lizzie Martin Witch Lit Series, The Eloquent Witch, and am on the verge of completing the fifth aswell, The Able Witch. Once book five is complete, I shall write book six and then publish all three books in close succession.

I’ve had two stories published by Zimbell House Publishing in their anthologies ‘Unleashing the Gods’ and ‘1969’

I wrote ‘The Crocodile Brooch’ for the steampunk story, and ‘Sister Moon’ for the story set in the sixties.

I’ve a short story ‘Charlotte’s Ghost’ in this year’s Ghostly Rites 2019, published by Plaisted Publishing House. These stories are scary!

I’m working on two new short stories at the moment, as well as finishing my novel, and I’ll keep you updated on their progress.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the catch up on my writing and publication progress. Do let me know if you’d like me to update you on other aspects of my writing, inspiration, writing process and characters. You can find all the books listed above on my Amazon Author page here https://www.amazon.co.uk/Wendy-Steele/e/B007VZ1P06

After almost two months away from writing my novel, I’ve found it difficult re-establishing a writing routine, so I decided to hold myself to account to write for 10 minutes every day. It doesn’t matter what I write, as long as I write. Here are the first six days’ work for your enjoyment. Let me know which you enjoy, and whether you’d like to see any of them expand into a short story or novel.

Day 1

The leaf dripped with morning dew. Balancing in Tilly’s eye line was a magnificent dragonfly. Golden light flooded across the hills, and the dragonfly rose into the air to greet it. Gossamer wings shimmered, the dragonfly steadying herself on the hastening breeze, and Tilly reached out her hand. Tiny feet touched her skin and Tilly’s world turned upside down.

She stood on a mountain top, her hair blown this way and that by a warm wind that wove around her body like a snake. Beneath her feet, there was darkness so black and solid that she almost stepped out into the abyss. Above her, the wind parted the clouds, and out of the bright blue firmament shone a light so bright that Tilly took to her knee and shielded her eyes.

Her head filled with the warm, honey light and the darkness fell away. Peter’s infidelity and her mother’s spite and venom were gone, swallowed by the cavernous mouth.

She stood alone in a field outside her village, a wooden gate before her, and beyond the gate, the path continued, beneath arches of cream scented roses to a point of vibrating, pulsing light.

Tilly spread her arms out beside her, and a new, turquoise winged dragonfly flew down the path, beneath the flowers, into the arms of the goddess.

Day 2

Jess held onto the letter with her fingertips for what seemed an hour before letting go and dropping it into the post box outside the pharmacy in town. Her heart beat in her ears, and her legs wobbled beneath her. She pulled up her hood against the fast falling rain drops.

“Jess!”

Across the road, Mari called to her from the doorway of the coffee shop.

Relief flooded over Jess like a warm blanket. The sweet, bitter fragrances of coffee and vanilla flooded her senses. She dropped into a chair by the open fire.

“Get that coat off and I’ll get your coffee,” said Mari, “Penny will be here in a bit. You posted the letter then?”

Jess twiddled a stray damp curl against her face, waiting for her large skinny latte. Mari and Penny were her best friends, but how could she explain the importance of the letter she’d posted without sounding mad?

Day 3

Annie zipped up her hooded anorak and stepped into her Wellington boots. Her flash light was powered up and her wicker basket empty and eager. Though it was Lammas eve, the Welsh rain hammered down on the hills and fields. The blessing was, it wasn’t cold rain. There was a hint of a tropical storm in the air.

The track down to the river was overhung with ferns and hawthorn. Stinging nettles jostled with thistles in the strengthening breeze, buffeting against Annie’s legs. Head down, she hurried towards the stands of hazel.

In the light of her torch, the glossy white fruit shone beneath the dripping wet, lime green leaves. Still clasped in their fluffy holders, Annie picked them in clusters, sending showers of raindrops cascading onto her coat with every tug. She found a tree stump to balance her torch on, so in its beam, she used two hands to collect her harvest.

For the past two years, she’d watched the hazel nuts growing on her trees and then disappearing overnight. She smiled to herself on this occasion, pleased she was at least able to share the trees abundance with the squirrels.

Day 4

After six hours of driving in heavy traffic, Charlie turned her little blue car off the motorway, and the heavens opened. Rain like stair rods threatened to pierce her windscreen, but on she drove, up hills with ninety degree bends, and down again. Traffic thinned the deeper she drove into the heart of Wales. All she could think of was her little cottage with the jasmine beside the front door, and a week of peace, just her and the countryside.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love Steve. Her heart panged every time she thought of a fortnight without him, but the Jethcoe project was important, she knew that. Even working late in the office most evenings, he wasn’t close to finishing, he’d said, so it made sense to leave him in London, and enjoy her holiday on her own.

The cottage was a gift from her Auntie Elaine, who’d used it as a writing retreat, but now preferred to spend half her year in Malta and the other half in her villa in Spain, and Charlie loved to spend time there whenever she could. She’d considered renting it out for about ten seconds, immediately hating the idea of strangers in what was her home.

The sign for the village was almost obliterated by the pounding raindrops merging on the windscreen. Charlie slowed down before turning off the main street, up towards the woodland and her cottage on a rough stone track. She barrowed stones from her ‘quarry’ to fill the holes each year, but the rain was biting deep into the surface making her drive a bumpy one.

Turning into her yard, she slammed on her brakes. There was a light upstairs, and one in the kitchen.

Rain soaked her hair as she crept from the barn, her bill hook balanced in her hand. She blinked it away, her heart dancing to a crazy beat, and flung open the kitchen door.

‘Surprise!’

Snuggled naked on the duvet in front of the open fire, Charlie recalled the scene she’d witnessed in the kitchen; every surface glowed with the light from a tea light in a jar, the scent of josticks pervaded the air and Steve stood naked except for her bread apron, stirring supper on the Arga.

Day 5

How could she be lonely or bored when there was so much to do? Doris shook her head, attempting to dismiss the ache in her heart that threatened tears. Self-pity didn’t get the harvest in or the wood chopped. It was time for action, not wallowing in ‘what ifs’.

The rain on the roof of the wood barn was like a never ending barrage of gun fire, not the perfect day to pick and store vegetables, but with rain forecast for the rest of the week, today was the best day to begin.

Day 6

With the advice of her friends bouncing around in her head, Carys continued along the bumpy track. Although the gardens were private, being part of the National Gardens Scheme made them open to the public, so this first date was definitely in a ‘public place’, but whether there would be any members of the public at such a remote location on a drizzly, August day, she couldn’t be sure. Being new to the area, Henry hadn’t any better ideas of where to meet, so a walk around a soggy garden, hopefully followed by a hot drink to stave off pneumonia, was the best scenario she’d been able to come up with.

On she drove, fine mizzle coating her windscreen and dampening her spirits. A hand painted sign confirmed she was still driving on the correct path, turning up towards the skyline and the outline of a house and trees on a hill. A lady clad head to toe in waterproofs opened the gate for her and beckoned her to park in front of the house. There was no sign of any other cars. Carys glanced at her watch. It was ten past eleven. She was late, yet there was no sign of Henry. She checked her phone in her bag. No messages. She zipped it into her waterproof coat and climbed out of the car.

Melissa was a wonderful host. The garden tour, including a visit to the ‘cave’ and the ‘temple’ was relaxing and fun, despite the weather, and the home made Welsh cakes and fresh coffee, were welcome to stave off the chill. The sculptures she’d seen throughout the gardens inspired her, and excited her, confirming her love of everything upcycled and reused to be a healthy state of mind. She’d a list of plants to seek out when she got home, and half a dozen envelopes full of seeds to plant in her own garden.

Climbing into her car after bidding her host farewell, Carys’ phone vibrated in her pocket. She glanced at the screen and giggled to herself a little. Once through the gate and a final wave to Melissa, Carys allowed herself permission to laugh as hard as she wanted. She wouldn’t be meeting Henry, ever. He’d approached the road to the garden, but been worried the rough track might damage his car, so had driven home before messaging. What need had she, a woman who lived alone in a remote longhouse, surrounded by twenty acres of land, for a man who wouldn’t get his car dirty, let alone his hands?

They are all first draft, so be kind, but it fascinated me how some days, I struggled to write fast enough to get the words on paper, and yet other days, I could barely string a sentence together!

I’m happy to say that I’ve picked up my WIP again, and The Able Witch is coming together, the fifth book in the Lizzie Martin Witch Lit series. Book four, The Eloquent Witch, is written but I’m waiting to complete the series with book six, before publishing. If you haven’t begun the series yet, you can buy The Naked Witch, the first book in the Lizzie Martin series, here, for less than the price of a skinny latte https://www.amazon.co.uk/Naked-Witch-Wendy-Novel-Book-ebook/dp/B06W5D6GVV

My first published novel, Destiny of Angels, was the novel I wanted to read, but couldn’t find. With a large cast of varied characters, Angel Parsons led me along the paths of the witches Qabbalah, and I learned about myself and my writing. At the time I published, magical realism was stuffed full of vampires and werewolves, so it was time for real people and real magic, but without realising it, I’d written a specialist book. Not every reader cared about the opportunity to view life through different eyes, and be open to the idea of alternative realities. I wrote the sequel Wrath of Angels because it needed to be written (and it’s a far superior novel to Destiny in my opinion), but I had no readers and needed to think again.

Though ideas for the final book were rattling around in my head, they were quoshed by new ones, evoked by the Welsh landscape. Discovering a Bronze Age settlement site on the hill beside our house, my mind was drawn to the past and the people who lived there, and to those who will live there in the future and the Standing Stone book series was born. Three women linked, across time and space, are brought together in the presence of the goddess by the standing stone and given help and support to deal with their current problems and heartaches. I loved writing these books!

I was invited to submit a story for a Witchlit anthology, a gathering of magical short stories, so turned my hand to attempting to write one. The first two weren’t right; they were too magical somehow, and then I hit on an idea and Last Chance for Love was created. This short story has changed my writing path, leading me to write stories that mix the mundane with the magical with ease and pure joy. Sign up for my newsletter and receive it FREE as a ‘thank you.’

I know how much you’ll enjoy the Lizzie Martin, Wendy Woo Witchlit Series, so from 9th-14th October, you can download the first book, The Naked Witch, for FREE, and begin your journey into Witchlit. Lovely to have you with us. New moon blessings xx

Six years ago, soon after I joined Facebook and Twitter, I made all five of my books written at the time free, to celebrate a large birthday with a five in it. Free books were the ‘done’ thing to attract readers and reviews. I remember watching the download figures soar beyond the thousands. I believed readers would love my books and review them, drawing more readers to buy my books, and my writing career would take off. I’d sit every day, writing books while publishers clamoured over my titles.

From more than 5k downloads I received 0 reviews. No one bought my books.

I was naive…and stupid. There were godzillions of free books at the time (kindles were new) and so readers downloaded everything they saw that was free. Most people read none of them. Once again, I was a new writer full of new stories to tell, but no one to listen to them.

From then on, I thought long and hard about what I was willing to write for free.

In 2015 I put myself on a short story writing ‘course’, aiming to write, edit and submit one new story each week to a competition, magazine or anthology, hoping that at least one story out of 52 would be a good one. I managed 44 and had 10 of those published online or in anthologies. I was only paid for one of them, but even now, the anthologies I participated in are being downloaded and purchased, providing a link to my website and therefore to me. I view them as advertising, plus the year I spent honing my short story skills taught me a lot, and my novel writing improved because of it.

From 9th – 14th October, you can download The Naked Witch, the first book in the Lizzie Martin Witchlit series for FREE…because I’m confident you will want to read more. Six years on, I’m a better writer, I’ve more books for you all to enjoy, and I’m sure you’ll love Lizzie Martin and her battle between her heart and her head. I’m not looking for thousands of random downloads, but looking to reach readers who enjoy a cracking story, great characters and a little humour in their books, and who’ll love to read more in the future.

I’ll let Lizzie introduce herself…

Hi, I’m Lizzie and I’m a witch. Not that I wear a pointy hat and travel to work on a broomstick! In fact, unless you get to know me well, you would never know. I live my life following the Sacred Wheel of the Year and use magic in my daily life. I might draw a single card from my Tarot pack, set a candle spell working or consult with Cerridwen and her cauldron but even if my focus is not on a magical act or ritual, the Wheel turns and I move with it.

I was a ‘ginger’ at school but if you’re going to label me, I’d prefer redhead. I love wearing bright clothes that compliment rather than clash. Paisley, velvet and Indian fabrics are my favourite, swathing my body in colour and light. I’ve never felt the need to show off my figure so I let my clothes do the talking. I rarely have to do more than smile, which I prefer. I learned to be quiet at an early age while my parents argued.

I’m not a great one for shouting. At our old house, I avoided the neighbourhood squabbles and gossip, preferring peace to provocation. I got on well with everyone but had no particular friends. My fault? Probably but I’m a private person and I worry about sharing too much of myself with strangers. At our new house, it’s different. Mr Brody is our next door neighbour, his house adjoins ours, so we met on the day Rowan and I moved in. I was worried about Rowan’s music disturbing him and he was embarrassed that his TV would annoy us!

Louise and I are friends, good ones I hope. She’s one of the security guards in the building where I work. She’s raven haired and vivacious, completely different from me, but they say opposites attract. She’s kind and funny and that’s why I like her.

With Josh, my ex-husband, out of my life, Rowan is my family. My father died when I was young. He is my first thought on waking, while my mother and I struggle to form any kind of relationship, even now. Affectionate isn’t a word I use to describe her. Some days, I don’t think she cares about me at all, but she’s Rowan’s Granny, so I do the best I can. Marsha, on the other hand, Josh’s mum is a sweetheart. She continues to treat me as family, phoning for advice about her dreams and welcoming Rowan to her villa in Spain every year.

‘Call yourself a witch! Where’s the magic?’ I hear you ask. At the bottom of my garden is a little wooden shed that I call Sanctuary. Rowan calls it my ‘Mum cave’. Within its warm and welcoming walls, I draw and paint and surround myself with magic.

I’ve not read it or been told, I just know; witches don’t share the details of their magical workings. You’ll read books of spells, books of correspondences, practices and rituals you can create for yourself, and manuals and guides for you to create your own magic, but the magic of an evening beneath the moon is for the witch alone. Her personal feelings, gains and knowledge gleaned are for her benefit, for her to mull over and learn from, as it should be. Except for Lizzie Martin.

In the Wendy Woo Witch Lit Series, Lizzie Martin shares it all, just like the characters in Dion Fortune’s fiction. It was through Dion Fortune’s books, especially Moon Magic and The Sea Priestess, that I felt compelled to write stories of my own about real people and the magic they create in their lives.

Lizzie Martin includes you in her world, and that includes her magic. In The Naked Witch, Lizzie extends to you the privilege of her Sanctuary…

‘At the bottom of the garden, she squeezed past the oak and rowan trees and opened an old wooden door. Smells of pine, incense and wet wool greeted her. Rowan called it her ‘Mum Cave’. Lizzie called it Sanctuary. Neither carefully synchronised calendars nor lists adorned the walls. No colour co-ordinated work outfits or labelled files filled the cupboards. Swathed in rich tapestries and layers of ancient rugs, Lizzie’s escape was the home she longed for. An ancient chaise longue, draped in rugs and throws spread along one wall. The corner opposite held an exquisite, dust free altar. In the centre sat a curvaceous wooden figure of the goddess.’

Near the beginning of The Orphan Witch, Lizzie shares with you her simple ritual, and her feelings on this Samhain, All Hallow’s Eve or Halloween…

Inside her Sanctuary, safe in her circle, Lizzie made a bed in her lap with her cloak for the chicken. The bird trotted around, mimicking a cat following its tail. Cooing contentedly, she nestled down. Two white candles burned on the altar, casting an eerie flickering light, quickly guzzled by the fog of frankincense. The mist swirled, set in motion by splutters from the candles.

Wrapped in sheepskin, Lizzie sat on the hillside, watching the moon bathing the land in shadow. Sheep huddled among the giant boulders. Men and women stood around the standing stone on the hilltop behind her. Darkness was coming. It was time to return to the valley.

She climbed to the peak, the crackling of the fire welcoming her before its blessed warmth. Tonight they would keep the dark away, for one night at least.

The comforting aroma of ancient books stirred Lizzie and she looked down to the tome open before her. The ticking of her heart sped up. The pages turned in a blur, glimpses of the past bleeding through. Marsha waved from a luxury yacht as did her Granddad, recognisable by the watch chain he always wore in photos. Faces flickered, the pages speeding up, sucking Lizzie into the past with them until she sat wrapped in skins again, looking up into a beautiful, dark brown face framed by oiled and braided plaits. The word ‘mother’ burst within her and Lizzie knew. On the night we remember and revere our ancestors Lizzie was not alone. This was her mother; the mother of us all.

In The Flowerpot Witch, Lizzie invites the reader to Tal-y-Llyn lake and her ritual for Imbolc…

Backpack bouncing, Lizzie set off across the uneven grass. She grimaced over the stile, her ribs screaming at her, across endless streams and springs gushing from the earth, onto the track around the lake. Large stones and rocks littered her way. She stopped often, enjoying the fresh wind on her face and the glints of sunlight bouncing off the water. Diverting from the track, the land was rutted and boggy. Her thighs ached and her ribs burned, climbing over the grassy mounds and ridges before dropping down towards the lake.

There was little flat ground, but she was sheltered from behind, the only wind blowing off the lake in front of her. She trapped the flapping, white altar cloth with her goddess statue from her Sanctuary. She’d never get the candle in the Goddess’ arms to stay alight, but she’d planned ahead and brought two glass jars and two chunky candles, one white and one orange, already charged with chamomile, myrrh and cinnamon which she placed on the cloth along with a handful of white ribbons, a cloth bag, a jar of milk and an old but serviceable horseshoe.

Standing on the tiny beach, the cold wind tugged at her hair and the cloth bag in her hand. She grounded herself, and then cast protection around her before kneeling at the altar. A warm stillness hung over her circle of protection.

Blessed Brigid, Triple Goddess, Protector

Preserver of All Memory and Knowledge

Lizzie lit the white candle.

Goddess of Fire and Fertility

She lit the orange one.

Welcome to my circle.

Lizzie knelt before the pregnant maid, mesmerised by the candle circlet adorning her tendril curls. Swathed in a cloak the colour of new leaves, her arms wrapped protectively round her belly, the goddess looked into Lizzie’s eyes. Wisdom, compassion and understanding connected the women and Lizzie found the courage to speak.

The long days of Winter are behind us

With your blessing, we look to the Spring.

From the cloth bag she withdrew multiple stones, offering each to Brigid to be blessed.

Sweet lady, Goddess of light

Bless these rose quartz so they may bring me wisdom

To heal with love and compassion.

Bless these citrines so they may drive away the darkness

Bringing light into the hearts of those who need it.

Bless these rubies in memory of the fire of life that glows in your belly

And the promise of life to come.

She picked up the horseshoe.

Bless this iron horseshoe

Above whichever door it hangs

May that house be a happy home.

At her altar, around each stone and the horseshoe, she tied a white ribbon before picking up the jar of milk and stepping back onto the beach, in front of the goddess. Opening her arms to the wind, she breathed in the beauty of Brigid and sent up her prayer.

Dearest Brigid who nurtures the seeds through the winter

Bringing the promise of Spring

Blessed Goddess who gives and shares

Showering us all with your enchanted, empowering light.

I honour you and give you thanks

Offering back the milk of innocence

To ensure new births and new beginnings.

She unscrewed the lid and dripped the milk onto the stones and in the lake.

And in this case, it is one particular story that matters. It’s a story I’m sharing with you all because it marks a defining moment in my writing.

This story is the culmination of eight years of writing and publishing novels.

I began writing about high magic and the Wheel of the Year in the two books published so far in the Lilith Trilogy, Destiny of Angels and Wrath of Angels. In both books, Angel Parsons travels the paths of the witches Qabalah and celebrates the Sabbats with her friends. I had read all of Dion Fortune’s books and wanted more.

The Standing Stone book series picks up the threads of the Sabbats of the previous novels, setting the lives of the three women lead characters to be directly affected and influenced by the changing seasons on the Wheel of the Year. These books were inspired by my own arrival in Wales and the luxury of owning land, including a riverbank and the luxuriousness and diversity of the Welsh landscape.

‘Last chance for love’ is Sally’s story, a modern witch using magic in her daily life but mixing it up, using whatever assistance feels right to her to aid her in her last hope. Reading it now, I find it a little ‘clunky’ compared to the Wendy Woo Witch Lit Novels, The Lizzie Martin Series, but this story was the stepping stone to the WitchLit I write now.

This story matters. This story led me to an opportunity to share with every reader the ways that they can be empowered to bring a little magic to their own lives in whatever way they like.

WitchLit is easy to read but eloquent. WitchLit tells a good, simple story, and then you begin to peel away the layers to reveal its complexity.

Sign up for my newsletter today and receive your copy of ‘Last chance for love’.

The Flowerpot Witch Blog Tour finishes tomorrow, so I wanted to add my own blog post to the tour. My interview on Friday at Showboat TV with Judith Barrow gave me the opportunity to talk about many things, including why I write Witchlit and magical realism.

Have you read any fiction by Dion Fortune? I read Sea Priestess and Moon Magic and I knew I wanted to write more stories like those.

Fortune’s female lead is a strong, focused, determined woman and her magic is ‘real’. Destiny of Angels was my first novel and my female lead, Angel Parsons, uses the paths of the witch’s Qabalah to explore different ideas and perceptions of reality on the astral plane. I followed it with Wrath of Angels. I believed readers had had their fill of vampires and werewolves and would appreciate real people and real magic but I struggled to market the books because they didn’t fit neatly into the established genres.

I needed a different approach…

In August 2013 we moved into the field of the house we were buying in Wales, waiting for the purchase to be completed.

Once we’d moved in, we discovered an ancient Bronze Age settlement site on a hill beside the house and we cleared our riverbank of brambles and nettles to give us access to the river via a number of secluded ‘beaches’. I took inspiration from the Welsh landscape and penned the first book in the Standing Stone Series, Home for Christmas. These books were more accessible to readers, giving them a story of three women linked across time and space by the standing stone. In there time of most need, the women ask for help and it is given in the form of guidance from the goddess.

And then there was Witchlit! Inspired by a short story I was asked to pen for a possible anthology, Lizzie Martin, my protagonist, sprung into my mind and the Wendy Woo Witch Lit Series book 1, The Naked Witch was created for her. These books are about a real witch who uses magic in her every day life.

Defining and publicising Witchlit is my mission, introducing readers to my stories and others who write this wonderful, exciting, new and sexy genre. We want to start a Witchlit revolution!

You can join the revolution by adding @Witchlit1 to all your magical tweets and be sure to follow us on Twitter…

Witch Lit is contemporary, magical realism, where the magical and the mundane co-exist. The stories are gritty and believable while magic is sprinkled through the stories, offering the reader a new perspective on reality.

Unlike Chick Lit, Witch Lit women do away with the sweet, sickly or fluffy. Their passion, determination and creativity shine through the stories, though none are averse to a well-rounded buttock or a chiselled jaw. Witch Lit isn’t anti-men but Witch Lit women’s lives don’t revolve wholly around their presence or absence.

You do not need to be pagan or a witch to enjoy these stories!

I’ve had a lot of fun on the Blog Tour, meeting and chatting to new people and sharing my passion for writing, dancing and magic with bloggers and readers. If you’d like to stay in touch, why not sign up for my newsletter?

The Flowerpot Witch blog tour is nearly here and it’s all thanks to the newest member of the team, Rachel Gilbey.

Welcome Rachel to my blog!

Thanks Wendy, it’s my pleasure to be featured on your blog.

Your services were recommended to me online as the lady to create a perfect blog tour but how do you describe yourself?

I would describe myself as incredibly fortunate to be in a position to be running my own business and doing a job that I am thoroughly enjoying. I am organised, a huge lover of books and just want to help authors get their book out and seen to the wider world.

How did you come to be supporting writers?

Three years ago I started up a book blog, and then from there started taking part in blog tours. From that I realised it was something that I had the skills to do, but it took a year of procrastination and research before I was able to set up the business.

I have been an avid reader my whole life and with social media and the internet it was probably inevitable that I would eventually find likeminded people and be able to share my love of books with a wider audience.

Have you considered writing yourself?

No, I just about got an A in English Language GCSE back in 2000, and that was the last time I tried to write creatively. If I ever had a persistent idea for a book I may give it a go but have no burning desire to write, I would rather enjoy the fruits of everyone else’s imaginations!

What is your favourite genre to read and why?

Chick lit / romance – I like pure escapism. Romance in real life doesn’t seem to agree with me but in fiction I get to experience many varieties of book boyfriend, and with chick lit and women’s fiction I get to enjoy some humour too and generally realistic well rounded identifiable characters, which I can then pretend to be for a short while.

If you were stranded on a desert island, with food and shelter provided, what five items would you want with you?

Kindle – I have so many books on it that even without Wi-Fi I have enough to keep me going for a few years

Sun tan lotion – need to protect my skin as I turn into a lobster otherwise!

A sexy man – well I need to entertain myself too!

A genie in a lamp – Having someone to cast unlimited wishes seems like a plan to me

A puppy – I love dogs and don’t have one and need some company when I get bored of the sexy man!

You can invite three people to dinner, who would you invite and why?

Gordon Ramsay – I need someone to cook the dinner and I like him!

Gary Barlow – a mix of entertainment, great music and well I’m a huge Take That fan but don’t want to invite only them for my 3 spots!

Dave Gorman – he’s a lesser known comedian but I love his jokes and observational comedy and I reckon he would fit in well to this party.

Thank you so much for sharing a little of what makes you tick.

Use these links to contact Rachel and view the wonderful random resources she offers.